The Heart of our Mother

by Denny Lancaster, 250807

Do you hear my children weeping, my brothers,
but their sorrow comes not with their years,
for they are listening to their dear mothers,
who wash away with poetry, their wee tears.

Why would not my children's fathers see sorrow,
and ask why my children's tears are falling so,
because the old men are weeping for tomorrow,
so poetry can thrive in earths breast, as long ago.

Just look into my children's happy wee faces,
their smiles and eyes are a sight to see,
for the poets finger writes and presses,
down their cheeks with poems of their infancy.

Alas, my children your poems are drooping,
a poet mother and father in you must be making,
for my children's hearts for rhyme are breaking,
while the worlds knees in prayer are stooping.

We are in this earthen place, my brothers.
and look up to him from our knees and pray,
thankful mothers and fathers are like others,
who pray so these poems, will sing all the day.

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